


A Brief Freedom

by mandiholl



Series: Lyrium and Silk [3]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-05
Updated: 2014-12-05
Packaged: 2018-02-28 07:40:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2724206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mandiholl/pseuds/mandiholl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Fenris disappeared after killing Hadriana, Moira feared he'd finally had enough of mages and left her. Little did she know he'd return with an urge to show her just how special she was to him.</p>
<p>Aw yeah, it's the end of "A Bitter Pill".</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Brief Freedom

Moira couldn't help the rise of panic she felt when she, Varric, and Aveline emerged from the slaver den only to find Fenris was nowhere to be found. True, he had said he needed to go, presumably to get some air, but... He had just been raving about how magic spoiled whatever it touched. What if he'd finally had enough of her and had left for good; decided that a life on the run was better than working with a mage?

Varric and Aveline seemed to sense this, and did their best to cheer her up on the hike back to Kirkwall. It worked minimally, and even as they parted ways she occupied her worried mind with introducing Orana, who had arrived just before her, to the house and family.

It was only when the night was upon them that the nagging fear reared its head again, making the mundane act of tying her evening robe nearly impossible to complete with trembling hands. Just as she was about to retreat to the balcony in an attempt to calm herself, there came a knock at her chamber door.

“Messere,” came Bodahan's somewhat tired voice, “Fenris is here to see you.”

Moira nearly leapt over her bed before she realized that appearing _too_ worried would no doubt insult the elf, implying that she doubted his obvious trust in her. So with a deep breath she thanked Bodahan and padded to the entryway, where she glimpsed his lithe figure seated on the bench, instantly settling her nerves.

Even as she approached he stood—obviously he'd been planning out what he would say to her. “I've been thinking about what happened with Hadriana...” he murmured, his eyes hesitant to meet hers. “I... took out my anger on you; I was not myself...” Finally his eyes rose to her face, genuine remorse in their emerald depths, “I'm sorry.”

Heart swelling, she immediately cast away all the hurtful things he had said in the slaver's den. He had been a slave in Tevinter, after all—she had known there would be a few issues.

She ought to say something sweet and forgiving, but instead what came out of her mouth was, “I had no idea where you went—I was concerned.”

Bloody idiot, make it all about _you_...

“I... needed to be alone,” he answered instead. “When I was still a slave,” he explained, eyes drifting off as he recounted his past to her, “Hadriana was a torment. She would ridicule me, deny my meals, hound my sleep... Because of her status, I was powerless to respond _and she knew it_ ,” he growled, the familiar anger and frustration seeping back into his voice as he turned back to her. “The thought of her slipping out of my grasp now... I couldn't let her go. I wanted to, but I couldn't.”

He had _wanted_ to? “What do you mean?”

“This _hate_ ,” the word dripped from his throat like a molten gout of lead, “I thought I'd gotten away from it, but it dogs me no matter where I go. To feel it again,” he sighed, that last bout of fury giving way to a rare, vulnerable moment of shame, “to know it was _they_ who planted it inside me, it... it was too much to bear.”

Their eyes locked as a pregnant silence filled the air, all their fear, sorrow, hope, passion, crippling loss and unexpected joy passing between them, better communicated than they ever could with words.

But then suddenly Fenris looked away, perhaps ashamed that he had admitted such personal feelings, or maybe he had noticed how much his absence had worried her. “Ah, but I didn't come here to burden you further...” he sighed, turning back toward the door.

Heart leaping into her throat, Moira stepped forward without even thinking, hand reaching out to touch his arm. She realized a moment later that that had been a mistake. “Fenris, don't go.”

Immediately the elf whirled around, lyrium brands flaring to life as he shoved her back against the wall, a wild, near-crazed look in his eyes and snarl curling his lip. It was absolutely terrifying, no question, but not quite for the reasons one would think. Moira feared for _him_ most of all when he had these moments—when the conditioning of his bondage and its resulting bottomless rage took hold and he practically became an animal. That was when she feared that he might never heal; might forever wander a broken shell of a man lost to all, including himself.

But a moment later it was gone, brands extinguishing as the horrifying realization that he had almost hurt her dawned on him. Hands delicately releasing her, he hesitantly stepped back, panicked, his mind torn between apologizing and running.

Moira personally didn't like either option. How she longed to pull him back and assure him that she cared for him, even at his worst! But with Fenris, often actions spoke louder than words, so she took a gamble—she lunged forward and kissed him.

The elf's eyes went wide in shock, a startled gasp stifled by the mage's lips, and yet he didn't push her away. Even as she broke the kiss to look imploringly into his eyes, he remained.

“Please don't go, Fenris,” she murmured, gently stroking the Tevinter's sharp jawline with her fingertips. Sliding her hands down his powerful arms, she pulled him by the hands as she stepped back into the wall. After all, she didn't mind being pressed against a wall, _for the right reasons_.

Her heart soared when he allowed himself to be led, his eyes softening as understanding finally reached him. He even leaned down to meet her halfway for the subsequent kiss, hands rising to gently cradle her hips as the space between their bodies closed. The slow tenderness was short-lived, however, as passion drove their pace to accelerate. Soon the world was nothing but searching hands, heated breaths, and gyrating bodies.

Maker, she hoped Bodahan had returned to his room.

“Mmm, how I've longed for this...” the elf growled, one hand sliding around her to tug at the ties to her robe.

“And _here_ of all places?” she couldn't help but reply with a little smirk. He gave a little amused puff through his nose, but at least it made him stop a moment, allowing her to catch his hands before he rendered her unable to think. “Come on,” she said simply, drawing him by the hand into the house proper, up the stairs, and to her chambers. As he reached the threshold to Moira's room, Fenris paused, eyes wide and hesitant as though the doorway was a threshold into another world. However, after a moment of deliberation, he regarded her puzzled but worried look with one of his small smirks and stepped inside.

Just as Moira was closing the door after him, there came a whine from the waist-high, nub-tailed creature trying to nudge his way inside. “I'm sorry, Max,” she sighed. “Go sleep with Sandal—you'd like that, wouldn't you?”

The great gray hound barked with excitement and tore down the stairs. Thank the Maker—she'd hate to have had to deal with a jealous mabari in the morning.

She then turned to find herself being regarded by a similar pair of wide, sparkling eyes. It seemed she would be sleeping with a different animal tonight. Even as she gave a little laugh he was back upon her, swallowing that laugh as he wrapped his arms around her waist, pressing their bodies together. For a man who didn't remember anything before being a bodyguard and then going on the run, he certainly was talented with his tongue.

Adrift in a sea of perpetual motion and pleasure, Hawke somehow managed to undo the buckles of his breastplate while he endeavored to drive her mad with his ceaseless attention to her neck. She got her vengeance when she discovered how incredibly sensitive his ears were, noting the shiver he tried his best to hide as she ran her tongue along its length.

There came a ripping noise, giving them a bit of a start, but fortunately they found that in his haste to open her robe he had only ripped the cord that kept it closed. Giving a small laugh, she helped him undo the lethal gauntlets before he pried them from her grasp, left hand flying to clutch her bottom and press her harder against him as the right delved inside her robe. In no time her robe was falling to the floor in a pile of red silk, leaving her in naught but her smallclothes before his hungry eyes and questing hands.

As much as Moira was enjoying the attention he was showering on her, she couldn't help but feel it was a bit unfair that he was still fully clothed. Undoing the fastenings of the elf's shirt, she used the fabric to pull him back toward the bed, keeping it open enough to glimpse that wonderfully svelte chest. By the time she had guided him to sit at the bed, she had removed his shirt and was having trouble fending off impatient hands prying at her breastband, especially when he was nipping at her bottom lip like that. Ultimately, she failed, but the sight of her bare breasts gave her the distraction she needed to kneel between his legs and unlace his pants. Then she had him in the palm of her hands, both figuratively and quite literally.

Maker, he was just as she had hoped, hot and hard and twitching at her touch. While the little rational voice in the back of her head was shocked that the brands continued even here, the rest of her was happy to have something to follow with her tongue. Above her, Fenris sucked in a quick breath through his teeth, his thighs tightening on either side of her head as she drew her tongue up the length of him from base to tip. Laving the flushed crown until his hips were straining up for more, she hummed against his rosy skin as she felt his hands threading themselves into her hair, silently pleading.

Fortunately, she was feeling accommodating. Taking in just the head at first, she bathed it with wide, flat-tongued strokes, drawing a series of gasps and groans from the Tevinter. She took in a bit more with each slow bob of her head, pumping what she didn't reach with her hand, until she could feel him unconsciously thrusting to her ministrations. The sounds he was making, _Maker_ —she was getting wet just listening to him, although the feel of his pulsing manhood in her hands helped too. She left his erection only long enough to give some attention to his balls, deriving no small pleasure in the way they rolled about on her tongue, before acquiescing to the insisting pull of his hands and rising back up to his most urgent need.

The elf was struggling to maintain control, forcing himself to breathe deeply as he bounced between rolling his head back in bliss and watching her with an intensity that she could _feel_. Pleasuring him became almost like a puzzle game, experimenting to see what would draw the most irresistible of noises from him, what would send chills down his muscular frame, and what would have him thrusting helplessly into her mouth. Each reaction had her inner muscles quivering with need, smalls growing damp as she imagined the hardness between her lips thrust inside her. One hand trailed up his torso, teasing a dark nipple and tracing his sensitive brands that had him gasping as though she had plucked a tightly-wound string.

“Nnng, Moira...” he finally groaned, summoning all his strength to pull her off of him. She couldn't help but smile at the use of her first name—he had always just called her “Hawke” before. He growled a breathy, “ _Festis bei umo canavarum_ ,” against her lips as he drew her onto his lap, devouring her mouth as though he was a starving man granted the most exotic of fruits. She would have to ask him what that meant at a later time, assuming she remembered it.

And then suddenly he had flung her onto her back on the bed and was squirming the rest of the way out of his leggings, all the while with a hungry mouth on her breast. As soon as he was free, he aided her in removing the last of her smalls before taking his place above her, settling himself between her legs. She welcomed him happily, wrapping her arms around his broad shoulders and weaving their legs together, reveling in the intimate skin-on-skin contact.

Maker, they must make the most beautiful merging of contrasts—soft curves meeting hard, chiseled lines; pale, rosy skin against sun-bathed tan; long raven hair tangling with silvery white. Would that she were an artist, she could immortalize such a beautiful scene.

The elf shook her from her reverie with an insisting but questioning grind against her wet folds, causing her to shudder and arch into him, eager for more. Reaching between them, she guided his hardness to her entrance as their eyes met, their foreheads touching, and gave the slightest of nods.

They gave a simultaneous gasp of relief as he slid inside her, slowly, not ceasing until he was fully sheathed within her. Savoring the feeling a few long moments, eventually Fenris's hips gave an almost involuntary pump, breaking the stillness and setting them upon a path from which there was only one destination.

After that, the world grew hazy, sensations magnifying as their bodies followed that instinctual need to rut. His calloused hands became the perfect tools of pleasure, each touch delivered with the same precision he exercised in decapitating a bandit or ripping the heart from a slaver. He _had_ to have done this before—no one was this good their first time, as she knew all too well. She didn't care who it had been, though, for tonight he was _hers_. She could feel it in how his lips never ceased peppering her skin; in how his length throbbed within her to the frantic pace of their heartbeats; in the loving warmth in his hooded eyes.

As the pace began to accelerate, the Tevinter surprised her yet again, pulling out to flip her over with a growl. He mounted her with the urgency of a male beast in heat, resuming with a fervor that had her gasping for breath. Maker, the angle he thrust at had her seeing stars and her fingers and toes tingling. He was everywhere—his body weighing her down, filling and caressing her; his scent in her nostrils, leather and sweat and musky pheromones stoking that biological fire within her; his voice in her ear, grunting and panting and cursing in Tevene the way she'd always dreamed he would. It washed over her until she was overwhelmed, surrendering even as he breathed her little words of encouragement with a hand at her womanhood.

The world behind her eyelids went white, then black, and when she recovered her senses she was trembling beneath him as his hips gave their last few convulsive bucks. She noticed offhandedly how his brands lit up as he climaxed, casting the room in a faint blue light. That was certainly interesting.

They both sagged onto the mattress in exhaustion, his weight a comforting presence rather than smothering. He rolled off eventually, their eyes meeting after they'd caught their breath in a contented, albeit weary, smile. Sitting up with a bit of effort, she pulled the light quilt she kept folded up at the bottom of the bed over the both of them, curling up to face her dozy lover and humming happily as he wrapped an arm around her.

Having already been tired before she and Fenris had romped, now nestled in the softest, warmest nest she'd ever experienced, it took very little time for Moira to drift off to a restorative, dreamless sleep.

•••

_“Leto, Varania!”_

_The two children glanced up from their game of jacks, both eager and disgruntled. They had just hit their stride, but they knew that call meant dinner was ready, and they were hungry._

_"She can wait a moment,” Varania murmured with a conspirator's grin._

_However, Leto shook his head and scooped up the little metal trinkets. “Come, we shouldn't leave Mother waiting,” he chuckled. Helping his sister up, the two of them jogged hand-in-hand back to the manor._

_They were so focused on their destination that they didn't notice their master as he crossed the veranda, Leto colliding into the man's legs. Their mother rushed to them from the kitchen door, eyes wide with worry as she readied to mete out apology and punishment._

_However, to their surprise, Danarius shook his head and patted the young elf on the back. “Take care, boy—we don't want you getting hurt,” he said with a small smile. Giving their mother a regarding nod, he then departed._

_Kneeling before her children, the woman rested her hands on their shoulders and whispered entreatingly, “See how kind he is? You must be careful to always please him, that he may continue to be so kind to us. You understand, my loves?”_

_The children nodded, knowing not to doubt her when there was such love and fear in her eyes._

_Fenris watched the three depart for the kitchen, but as they passed through the door they began to fade like apparitions as consciousness slowly returned to him._

_No!_

_Heart pounding in his chest, he raced after them, but his body dragged as though crawling through syrup as the world began to stretch and fade before him. With each step the door retreated farther and farther from him, his surroundings bleeding away like chalk under water._

_No, not now! Come back!_

_No!_

Fenris awoke with a start, stunned mind having to grasp for a moment where he was and what had happened. But the ultimate discovery made his heart ache in his chest.

He'd _lost_ it.

His very _life_ had been _right there_ in front of him, and then in an instant it was gone again.

Damn Danarius—that bastard had taken _everything_ from him! His freedom he could fight for, but the memories of his life, his family... He couldn't just _take_ them back. They may be lost to him forever.

As would Moira if the magister caught him again.

The revelation was like a stone in his gut, heavy and cold, making swallowing and breathing difficult task.

No, no he _couldn't_ let that happen.

Rising gently from the bed so as not to wake the sleeping Ferelden, he quietly went about the task of collecting and donning his clothing, that bitter voice forged from a lifetime of slavery haunting him all the while.

_Fool, did you really think yourself free? He's not even dead yet and you look to put down roots? He will find you, and he will punish you for your arrogance. He will strip everything from you, and once again you won't even know what you've lost. She—your heart, the very breath in your lungs—would be taken from you in every way._

“Was it _that_ bad?” came a drowsy voice from behind him. Venhedis, she was awake.

Turning from the fire, which he'd been staring into in contemplation, he forced himself to look upon her despite the pain it brought to him. He had given her everything, and now he had to break her heart. “I'm sorry, it's not...” he paused, trying to find the right words, “It was _fine_.” _Just fine?_ He cringed and shook his head. “No, that is insufficient. It was better than anything I could have dreamed,” he said finally, unable to keep a smile from rising at the memories of such a wonderful event.

Blush rising to her cheeks, Moira's eyes flashed down to the ornate brands on his arms. “Your markings? I hurt you, didn't I?”

“No!” he exclaimed. Sighing, his shoulders drooped, eyes falling in shame and reluctance. Try as he might, he couldn't lie to her. “No, it's not that...” _Venhedis, tell her. She deserves to know._ “I... began to remember—my life before. Just flashes.” _And it's gone now. Did you really think it'd come back? It was taken from you—and so can she._ “I-it's too much—this is too fast; I cannot do this.”

Confusion. “Your life before? What do you mean?”

“I've never remembered anything from before the ritual,” he explained with a sigh. He tried as best he could to remember something— _anything_ —that he might describe. “There were... _faces_... _words_...” Once again the pain of loss throbbed in his chest. “For _just a moment_ I could recall _all_ of it... and then it slipped away.”

Hawke nearly leapt up from the bed, slinging her legs over the side and barely remembering to cover her bare chest. “Fenris, this is _wonderful!_ They've started to come back to you?”

The elf's shoulders sagged. Maker, how could she still be so wonderful? It just made it harder for him to let her go. “Perhaps you don't understand how upsetting this is...” he moaned, turning back to the fire. It was a little easier without looking at her—those tempting bare shoulders, his mark still upon her neck, those bright, loving eyes... “I've never remembered anything, and to have it all come back in a rush only to _lose_ it...” Yes, focus on the pain. At any moment she could be taken from him, added to the myriad of faces lost, and he wouldn't even remember how much she meant to him. Or worse, Danarius could _let_ him remember. _Let_ him know how _much_ he could take from him when he disobeyed. Until he had earned his freedom, he couldn't risk it—he wasn't _worthy_ of it. “I can't... I _can't_ ,” he sighed, finally turning back to her.

He could see the wheels turn in her head, the tears beginning to sparkle in her sapphire eyes. “...But... Fenris...”

It was nearly done—finish it. “I'm sorry; I feel like such a fool. All I wanted was to be happy... just for a little while.” Let her think he didn't want more. It might hurt her, but not as much the slave hunters could. No matter how much it pained him to see her heart breaking, which he could bear to see no longer. Turning and muttering a barely audible, “Forgive me,” he left, her soft sobbing following him all the way across Hightown.


End file.
